


love which alters when it alteration finds

by Anonymous



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Aziraphale Has Self-Esteem Issues (Good Omens), Aziraphale and Crowley in Love (Good Omens), Blasphemy, First Kiss, Free Will, Love Confessions, M/M, Other, POV Aziraphale (Good Omens), Soulmate-Identifying Marks, The Author Spits In The Face of God :D, The Night At Crowley's Flat (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-23
Updated: 2021-02-23
Packaged: 2021-03-13 14:20:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29652597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: The name on Crowley’s shoulder, written in golden ink, there since the day of his creation, was not “Aziraphale”.The name on Aziraphale’s shoulder was not “Crowley”, either.In which soulmates are what you make of them, and destiny, really, is only a suggestion.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 26
Kudos: 81
Collections: Anonymous





	love which alters when it alteration finds

**Author's Note:**

> yes the title is from shakespeare’s sonnet 116 sorry  
> i won’t lie to you this fic was born solely of my deep-seated desire to fight both the christian god and the concept of destiny in a denny’s parking lot at 3 am. if that runs the risk of offending you, bye! if you *are* either of those things, square up! this was written in a fugue state in two days so please be nice, and i hope you enjoy!!

_**1967** _

The name on Crowley’s shoulder, written in golden ink, there since the day of his creation, was not “Aziraphale”. 

Aziraphale himself had known that for centuries. The open wearing of one’s soulmate marks went in and out of fashion over time, but both Aziraphale and Crowley had lived through enough of history to know the other’s marks nearly as well as their own. 

The name on Aziraphale’s shoulder was not “Crowley”, either. It was Haniel. Aziraphale had never met Haniel– Heaven largely considered soulmates to be a distraction, and thus, while all soul-bonds were by their nature inherently approved by the Almighty Herself and thus tacitly allowed, finding one’s soulmate was hardly encouraged. What with all the time he spent on Earth, Aziraphale had just… well, at first, he hadn’t bothered– he’d assumed that they would meet, eventually, so he never went out of his way. And then… 

The name on Crowley’s shoulder was Ballath. Aziraphale had no idea whether Crowley knew them or not– finding one’s soulmate was technically discouraged in Hell, as well (though, of course, that hardly stopped anyone– Aziraphale had never met Hastur and Ligur personally, but to hear Crowley tell it the two were inseparable, and they were far from the only ones). Crowley had never spoken of them, but… soulmates were one of those topics that they… tended to avoid, and while that avoidance was a boon to Aziraphale’s continued sanity, it helped very little in the way of answers. 

But either way, Aziraphale and Crowley were not soulmates. They were, quite literally, never meant to be. And yet… and yet, Crowley was so lovely, and so very clever, and he was funny and wily and underneath it all was a spark of kindness that, somehow, Aziraphale often found directed towards _himself_ of all beings, and– well. His falling in love felt almost inevitable, even if it was also inherently doomed. 

They weren’t soulmates. Aziraphale had no delusions that Crowley might some day love him back. It was more than Aziraphale deserved that Crowley was willing to spend any time with him at all, especially– oh, especially after that fight they’d had in 1862. Aziraphale had just– Crowley wanted _holy water_. It was one of the only things in the universe that could destroy him completely. And Crowley, as much as Aziraphale loved him, could be so terribly reckless, and even if he didn’t mean to use it on himself (how desperately Aziraphale hoped that was true, how desperately he wanted to trust in Crowley’s words instead of his own first instincts) all it would take was the tiniest mistake, a leak in the container or a drip not wiped away or the smallest bit of water left on the rim, and Crowley would be _gone_. Killed forever, erased from the universe, destroyed utterly. Aziraphale had decided, a long, long time ago now, that a great number of sins were forgivable so long as Crowley was kept safe. Even if he was so halfway across the universe from Aziraphale. 

Which led Aziraphale to where he was now, clutching a tartan thermos in trembling hands, staring through the (rather dusty) front window of the bookshop at where the Bentley was parked a little ways down the road. Aziraphale could hardly stand back and let Crowley do something so stupid, so dangerous, so ultimately pointless ( _your fault,_ the voice in his head whispered, _if he uses it, if he’s hurt, if this thing you’ve given him destroys him it will be_ your _fault and yours alone_ )– but, after a hundred and five years of denial, after their falling-out over it, after everything… 

Aziraphale knew that the little metal tube in his hands held more than holy water. Handing it over… it was tantamount to a confession. The thin veneer of plausible deniability that Aziraphale had spent centuries, _millennia_ constructing would crumble like so much ash, and there would be nothing left in the rubble but the truth of how he felt, the love he’d carried for eons, now. 

And Aziraphale was not Crowley’s soulmate. 

Really, there wasn’t any choice at all in the matter. Aziraphale would give Crowley the holy water, would give him the truth. It would be soon, now. And then… then, it would be in Crowley’s hands. Aziraphale was relatively confident that Crowley wouldn’t abandon him entirely for his confession, but… well, it was guaranteed to change things, wasn’t it? And there was no chance that Crowley could feel the same, not with… 

Aziraphale saw a flash of red hair through the window and jumped to his feet, taking a few shaky steps closer, his grip on the thermos tightening. 

It was Crowley, being pulled aside by young Lance Corporal Shadwell, as promised. Aziraphale would need to make certain that the dues made it to him on time. He focused on that, rather than on what he was doing, what he was holding, what was about to happen, calculating the wages and bonuses that he’d promised, as he closed his eyes and miracled himself into the Bentley’s passenger seat. 

And, a few minutes later, Aziraphale was closing the door to the bookshop once more, empty-handed and shaken, biting his lip nearly hard enough to bleed in his futile attempt to keep his tears from spilling over. 

He had almost said yes. It had been on the tip of his tongue, seconds from spilling out. But then, he’d thought of violet eyes, of the cold, merciless wrath of Heaven, of the fury of Hell, of an innocuous little thermos holding what could be the death of the most wonderful creature the Lord had ever created. Of golden letters sprawling across beloved skin, spelling out a name that was not his own. 

He couldn’t. He couldn’t put Crowley in danger like that. Not now, and quite probably not ever. And, cowardly though it undoubtedly was, Aziraphale couldn’t do it to himself. Whatever this thing between them meant to Crowley… his soulmate, his other half, the being he was destined to spend eternity with in one way or another, was someone else. And Aziraphale, the selfish, greedy, desperate, wretched excuse of an angel that he was, knew he couldn’t bear it should Crowley decide to leave. 

Across the room, the shop’s telephone began to ring, jolting Aziraphale out of his stupor. He half-walked, half-stumbled over to it, picking it up after the fourth ring and managing to keep the majority of the shudder out of his voice as he said, “I’m afraid we’re most definitely closed at the moment.” 

“Are you ever not?” Crowley’s voice replied. 

Aziraphale froze. He hadn’t expected... “Crowley? Is everything all right? Are you–?” 

“Yeah, yeah, don’t worry, m’fine,” Crowley said quickly. “I just.. d’you wanna get lunch on Friday? My treat. There’s a new little cafe, just opened near me. I hear their brioche is excellent.” 

Oh, Aziraphale could have collapsed in relief. “I– y-yes. That– that sounds lovely, my dear.” 

“Right.” Aziraphale could hear the smile in Crowley’s voice. “I’ll pick you up at half past eleven, yeah?” 

“Half past eleven,” Aziraphale repeated. “I’ll see you then, my dear. And, Crowley, I–” He cut himself off. No good could come of voicing his thoughts, not now, not like this. “Take care. Please.” 

“‘Course I will,” Crowley said, his voice gentler than Aziraphale had heard in centuries. “See you Friday, angel.” 

And then there was a click, and the drone of the dial tone. 

Crowley wasn’t leaving. He wasn’t abandoning Aziraphale, now that he knew. He wasn’t– he wasn’t going to– to use what Aziraphale had given him. He would be there, on Friday at eleven. 

Aziraphale hadn’t ruined everything. 

_Don’t get your hopes up, you idiotic angel,_ Aziraphale scolded himself, setting the receiver back down and making his way over to the little kitchenette in the back room. Some tea would be absolutely lovely at the moment… _You aren’t his soulmate. For that matter, he isn’t yours. Be reasonable._

Still. It was more than Aziraphale had dared to hope for– Crowley’s friendship, his continued presence, anything at all. Even though Crowley would likely never… never feel the same, this… 

It was more than enough. 

_**2014**_

Young Warlock Dowling had a soulmate. 

There, written across his shoulder in flowing gold, was a name– it was a rather traditionally masculine name, a fact which annoyed his father to no end, though between them Crowley and Aziraphale had managed to deflect the worst of that away from the poor child. It just… it made Aziraphale wonder, sometimes. 

“Do you…” Aziraphale began one night, sitting with Crowley in the little gardener’s cottage on the Dowling estate, with nearly a bottle and a half of a rather lovely Chateau Lassegue gone between them. 

Crowley looked up from where he was sprawled on the rather rickety old sofa, a glass of wine dangling from his hand. He’d taken off his glasses some time ago, a fact which was distracting Aziraphale rather more than it should have. “Do I?” 

“Do you think that… that the child’s having a soulmate… do you think that could be a good sign? For our… efforts here, I mean,” Aziraphale said. 

Crowley stared at Aziraphale for a long moment, then drained his glass. “No idea. Wouldn’t put it past the Boss Downstairs just to tattoo a name onto the kid so he’s less suspicious, but. Who knows. If it was Her, does seem a waste to get the kid’s hopes up if he’s never gonna actually meet whoever it is. Then again...” He frowned at his wineglass, which obligingly refilled itself. 

Aziraphale bit back his own sigh. “You may be right, my dear. I suppose only time will tell…” 

“Hey,” Crowley said, sitting up just far enough that he could lean towards Aziraphale. “It’s going well so far, angel. There’s no sign of anything too abnormal around the kid. I think we’ve actually got a chance, here.” 

“Really?” Aziraphale asked, searching Crowley’s ever-so-lovely face for any hint of… of… well, he wasn’t quite sure. 

“Really,” Crowley said. 

“Oh, I do hope you’re right,” Aziraphale said. “It would be a terrible shame for all of this work to have been a waste.” 

Crowley snorted, slumping back down once more. “If I’ve put up with this many bloody tantrums for nothing…” 

Aziraphale did his best to shoot Crowley a disapproving frown. “Well, now, whose fault is it if the child is turning out more selfish than he ought to?” 

“Yours, angel. You’re meant to be thwarting me! Seriously, you ought to do your job better.” 

“Now, really!” Aziraphale scolded through giggles he couldn’t quite hold back. 

Crowley just watched him for a long moment, that odd, soft smile on his face, and Aziraphale found himself... found himself actually looking back, his eyes tracing over the angles and planes of Crowley’s face, so familiar after all this time, and still so utterly wondrous, like a book he’d read a hundred times over which, each time through, held the same magic it had from the start. 

_I could stare at him forever,_ Aziraphale thought, not for the first time, nor for the last, he was certain. _And I would, if… if…_

Then Crowley cleared his throat, holding out his wineglass as though making a toast. “Well. Here’s to Warlock meeting his soulmate some day, hopefully a good long time from now.” 

And, just like that, Aziraphale felt as though a bucket of ice had been upended over his head. 

_He isn’t yours,_ he scolded himself sharply. _And you’re not his. You never, ever will be. Get it through your useless head. You are wildly, incredibly, unbelievably lucky to have as much of him as you do. Do not get greedy. Do not lose your head. Do not get your hopes up. Just keep him safe, as best you can, and love him from as far away as you can manage._

“Yes,” Aziraphale said aloud. “To Warlock, and his soulmate. Whoever they may be.” 

The rest of the evening passed in silence, save for the whispering of the leaves outside. 

_**2019**_

Aziraphale followed Crowley up to his flat on shaky legs. In a moment of either tremendous bravery or terrible weakness, Aziraphale had taken the demon’s hand on the bus, and neither of them had let go of the other yet. Aziraphale was quite sure that, given the chance, he’d never let go again. 

Crowley’s flat was warm, and dark, and somehow so quintessentially Crowley that Aziraphale couldn’t help being enamoured as Crowley led him through it, eventually sitting them both down on a sofa that had the good sense to become a fair bit more comfortable when Aziraphale touched it. 

“How, ah,” Aziraphale said softly, almost loathe to break the silence between them. “How long do you think we have?” 

Crowley snorted. “Hell’s not gonna get its shit together until tomorrow at the absolute earliest. Not sure about Heaven, though. What… what do you think…?” 

“Oh, they’ll want to use hellfire for me,” Aziraphale said. “Which likely means that they’ll need Hell’s assistance in the matter.” 

Crowley’s grip on Aziraphale’s hand tightened. “I can’t imagine your soulmate would let that happen without saying something.” 

“Oh, I’m sure they will,” Aziraphale said. “It’s not as though I’ve ever met them.” 

Crowley frowned. “Really? Seems like… I dunno. Seems like your thing. Destiny and true love an’ all that.” 

“W-well, I… I don’t really spend enough time in Heaven to have– have sought them out. And they never looked for me, either. And… well. I didn’t– I was always on Earth.” _With you._ “It… never seemed necessary.” 

“Oh.” There was an odd look on Crowley’s face, but with his sunglasses still in the way, Aziraphale couldn’t quite make it out. 

“And– and your soulmate?” Aziraphale asked, hoping desperately that his voice sounded steadier than it felt. “Will they… protest, in any way?” 

Crowley snorted. “Never met ‘em either. Doubt it, though.” He sighed, leaning back into the sofa. “Probably be holy water for me. That’s how I killed Ligur, and Hell’s very eye-for-an-eye, when they bother with punishments.” 

Aziraphale felt an icy sort of horror wash over him. “You used the holy water?” 

“It saved my life, angel,” Crowley said, turning to face Aziraphale more fully. “Without it, Hastur and Ligur would’ve dragged me Downstairs, and I’d probably be dead by now. _Thank you._ ” 

Aziraphale nodded, biting down hard on his lip. He didn’t trust himself to speak. If he opened his mouth now, he was positive that it would all come spilling out, the fifty years of terror and guilt, the centuries of fear before that, the love that had grown in the cracks in his soul until he couldn’t tell where he ended and it began. 

Crowley had fallen silent as well, his brow furrowed. 

Then he said, so quietly that Aziraphale nearly didn’t hear him, “Thought I lost you today.” 

Aziraphale blinked. “I’m sorry, what was that?” 

“Thought I lost you today, angel,” Crowley said, lifting his glasses slightly to rub at his eyes with his free hand. “I couldn’t… m’not gonna let it happen again. Whatever happens, I’m not gonna let them hurt you.” 

“You– Crowley, I can’t ask you to put yourself in danger like that, I–” 

“It’s not about that,” Crowley said, shaking his head. “It’s… look. The world was ending, Hell was coming after me, a-and all I could think about was grabbing you and getting both of us as far away as possible. And then, the bookshop burned, and I couldn’t find you, you weren’t anywhere inside–” 

“You went in?” Aziraphale cried, and it was only six thousand years of practice that kept him from grabbing onto Crowley with both hands to check him over for injuries. “Why would you _do_ that, you stupid demon, you could have been hurt–” 

“You were gone!” Crowley snapped. “You had vanished entirely, Aziraphale. I couldn’t feel you for the first time since I got to Earth. I thought you were _dead_!” He shook his head sharply. “M’not gonna let that happen again. You– you’re– angel, I can’t–” 

“Nor I you,” Aziraphale said, panic rising in his chest. “Crowley, please, you can’t put yourself in danger for my sake, if something happened to you I’d never forgive myself–” 

“I cannot lose you, angel, I absolutely–” 

“It was bad enough giving you the holy water, knowing that if you ever chose to use it anything that– anything that happened to you would have been my fault, but–” 

“Aziraphale, you stupid angel, I love you too much to let you die!” 

Aziraphale froze, his mouth hanging open, staring at Crowley. 

The demon sighed, pulling his hand free from Aziraphale’s to scrub it over his face before glaring down at the floor. “M’sorry, angel. I didn’t… but, I thought you died today. And… the whole world was ending, I knew Hell would still be after me, the War was hours away, but it… nothing mattered. None of it mattered, not if you weren’t there. I can’t… I _won’t_ let that happen again. And, y’know, I know we’re not soulm–” 

“I love you, too,” Aziraphale said, the words falling out of his mouth before he could quite stop them, and it felt like his soul went with them. 

Crowley’s head whipped up. “What?” 

“I love you, too,” Aziraphale said. “I– you’re– I can’t let you risk your life for me, Crowley, if you were _hurt_ –” 

“But… I’m not your soulmate,” Crowley said, frowning. “You– you–” 

“Nor am I yours,” Aziraphale pointed out. “But… well, that is, i-if you really meant…” 

“I did,” Crowley said immediately. “I… yeah. I love you. So much.” 

“Oh,” Aziraphale said again, a wobbly sort of smile taking over his face. “Oh, Crowley…” 

“Can I kiss you?” Crowley asked. “I’ve wanted to kiss you for ages, now.” 

“Oh, _please_ do,” Aziraphale said, and then Crowley was leaning in, one of those lovely hands coming up to cup his cheek, and then Aziraphale let his eyes slip shut as their lips met and– 

_Oh._

Aziraphale had never kissed anyone before, but he knew enough to know that most first kisses were rather wretched– especially like this, with both of them simultaneously exhausted beyond belief and entirely too keyed-up to have a hope of resting, with the soot from the Bentley and the bookshop still staining Crowley’s skin and a quiver in Aziraphale’s hands that he couldn’t quite still, the weight of the prophecy on his mind and the terror that this could be their last night, their last chance, and yet– 

And yet, Crowley’s mouth was so incredibly gentle as it moved against his, the hand on his face tilting him ever so carefully so that they could press closer. Aziraphale followed Crowley’s lead as best he could, his heart pounding in his ears and his hands coming up to grip fiercely at Crowley’s jacket, a grounding point in this tidal wave of new sensations. 

Eventually, after what could have been hours or could have been seconds, Crowley drew back, panting for air neither of them truly needed. 

“You okay, angel?” he asked quietly, his thumb rubbing gentle lines where it was resting on Aziraphale’s cheek. His other hand came up, prying one of Aziraphale’s hands off of his jacket and pressing a gentle kiss to Aziraphale’s knuckles before threading their fingers together once more. 

Oh, Aziraphale could have _melted_. “Y-yes. Yes, I’m… I’m quite all right.” 

Crowley sighed, leaning in to Aziraphale again, much more briefly this time. After a moment, he pulled away just far enough to speak. “Love you so much, angel. Fuck, it feels good to say it.” 

“I love you, too,” Aziraphale said, huffing out a small laugh. “It… it is nice, isn’t it? Though, oh, we’ve wasted so much time, and only now that it’s nearly too late–” 

Crowley snarled, his grip on Aziraphale’s hand tightening almost convulsively. “No. It’s not anywhere close to bloody _too late_. Got it? I won’t let any of _them_ touch us, not if I have to march on Heaven myself to do it.” 

“Crowley, you–” Aziraphale paused, then, frowning, a realisation dawning on him, and a wild, near-frantic sort of hope with it. He very nearly lurched forwards in order to kiss Crowley again, mumbling against his mouth, “I’ve got it! Crowley, I’ve got it! We– we might– oh, we might actually survive!” 

“Angel– mmf– angel, angel, wait, hold on,” Crowley said after a long moment, pulling back and letting his hand fall away from Aziraphale’s face. “As soon as we get out of this, I promise, I’ll spend an entire _day_ kissing you, but right now I need you to explain.” 

“Right,” Aziraphale said, his face flushing. “Of course. Ah. Well. It– you said that, that Hell will likely try to use holy water to– to destroy you, yes?” 

“Most likely, yeah.” 

“And Heaven, as I said, will use hellfire for me. But… well, holy water won’t hurt me, and hellfire won’t hurt you. And– and, well, Agnes did say to choose our faces wisely...” 

“ _Shit_ ,” Crowley said, his eyes going wide. “That bloody witch–! Angel, you’re absolutely _brilliant_ , fuck, I love you so much…” He pressed a fervent kiss to the back of Aziraphale’s hand, and Aziraphale felt his flush deepen. “When d’you think we should swap?” 

“Well, in all likelihood, the sooner we do it, the better,” Aziraphale said. “I should hate to be caught unawares.” 

“Fair point,” Crowley said. “Right. You, ah. You ready?” 

Aziraphale looked at their clasped hands, at Crowley’s face, so open and hopeful and dear, and then tugged him down into one last long, near-desperate kiss. 

When Aziraphale finally found the will to pull away, they both were panting again. 

“I love you,” he said, his voice quieter than he’d entirely meant it to be. “Just– you know. Just in case– in case something goes wrong, in case they work it out somehow, in case this– this really _is_ our last chance–” 

“Hey, hey, hey,” Crowley said, tracing a gentle hand along Aziraphale’s cheek. “It’s not. It won’t be. We’ll be alright, yeah? I guarantee you know me better than any of those wankers Downstairs, and I know my impression of you is spot-on.” 

Aziraphale snorted. “Your impression of me is terrible, my dearest. I sound nothing like that.” 

“Oi, I’ve gotten better,” Crowley said with a grin. Then his face softened. “Point is, if there’s anyone in the whole bloody universe that can pull something like this off… I’d reckon it’s us. Yeah? We… y’know, we may not technically be soulmates, but we still make a bloody good team.” 

“I have no idea what I’ve done to deserve you,” Aziraphale said with a slightly watery smile, squeezing Crowley’s hand for a moment. 

Crowley shook his head. “S’got nothing to do with _deserving_. I love you. You don’t have to do anything to _deserve_ that. You don’t have to try to earn it. I’m not Heaven.” 

“And you’re all the better for it, my love,” Aziraphale breathed. “I rather pity your soulmate, dear. They’ve entirely ignored the very best being She’s ever made. Though, I suppose, their loss is my gain, at least for now.” 

“There’s no ‘for now’ about it,” Crowley said firmly. “I’m yours, angel, for as long as you’ll have me, no matter what our idiot soulmates have to say about it.” 

“Always,” Aziraphale said immediately. “I-I’m yours, too, Crowley. I– I think I, really, I always have been, a-and I always will be.” 

“Even if your destiny comes calling?” Though it sounded like a joke, there was something small and oddly vulnerable in Crowley’s voice. 

“I… well,” Aziraphale said. “I rather think we’ve all learnt a thing or two about destiny today, haven’t we?” 

A broad, beaming grin broke across Crowley’s face, and he leaned in towards Aziraphale, kissing him yet again, and Aziraphale felt more than heard the quiet “That’s my angel” he murmured against his lips. 

Aziraphale closed his eyes and let himself get lost in the kiss, the hand that wasn’t holding Crowley’s sliding up to tangle in his hair, and Crowley groaned, letting go of Aziraphale’s hand only to wrap that arm around his waist instead, his other hand coming up to cup Aziraphale’s cheek once more, and, _oh_ , Aziraphale was suddenly certain that he could have stayed like that for eternity. 

_Not that you have that long,_ a little voice in Aziraphale’s head whispered, and suddenly, the reality of their situation came crashing into him once more. 

“Crowley,” he said, leaning back just far enough to speak and letting his hands drop. “My love, we need to swap. As soon as possible. We still have to work out the kinks...” 

“Nn, shit, you’re right,” Crowley said, taking a deep breath before letting go of Aziraphale entirely, and, oh, that hurt more than it ought to have. 

But then Crowley held out his hand. “Ready, angel?” 

Aziraphale took a deep breath, then took it, feeling a smile spread across his face. “I do believe I am.”

**Author's Note:**

> thank u for reading, kudos and comments absolutely make my day even though i’m very bad at responding sorry in advance y’all


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